Chapter 2: Two
A smile finds its way to my lips when I remember his smile but dread forms in my mind because I know a bond is about to form. His smile and its preservation in my memory say it all.
I walk down the main avenue boarded by trimmed hibiscus and imagine how my evening would turn out. A Range Rover is parked a few feet from us; It makes the cars (Toyotas and even Range Rovers) driving by look inferior because of the paleness of the matte black color.
Dad's jovial voice goes on and on as he talks to the principal. I follow behind, hands clutched on the straps of my bag, smiling. And because Dad talks, he walks slowly. His voice is compelling and holds the principal's attention. Beads of sweat dot the principal's head. In as much as dad's calm voice serenades, his countenance intimidates.
I enter the Range Rover and the chillness nurses my skin. Yetu doesn't raise his head from the phone he is pressing.
"Good Afternoon, sir," I say, and expect him to raise his eyes to see me through the rearview but he doesn't.
He absentmindedly says, "Ehen...How was school today?"
"Fine." I place my bag by the side, fish in it for my phone and hold the power button.
Yetu says some inaudible words, probably a reply or something that has to do with what he is typing.
He still has part of himself in Port Harcourt.
I can tell, by the precision of his fingers drumming over the screen. I also see it in Chimdi, his daughter's eyes and sense it in the grace Hanna gives me to unpack, as though she expects us to move back any moment.
Dad's voice is audible through the closed glass and the principal tries to keep up with his jovialness. A few minutes later, he enters the passenger side and comfortably fills the seat, then reaches to tune the radio. As the channels and static breeze by, he says, "So, how was it today?"
"Just there," I say flatly.
"Made any friend today?" For that question, he stops tuning the radio and holds my gaze through the rearview. I itch to tell him about the neighbors but I hold that piece of information for no reason. Not as if he could be caught off guard.
"No."
He finally hears the coarse voice of Nnamdi Kanu barking about politics. He allows it and reduces the volume.
"Have you made up your mind, sir?" Yetu asks, his English so polished, one would think he went to Havard and not just end at form six. "Are we going home or to the place?"
What place? I think but let Dad fill in the gap.
Dad turns in his seat so he faces me. He fingers the grey afro that sembles him to Wole Soyinka before he says, "There is a new mall that opened around the corner. I was thinking about heading there. What do you think?"
The old dog and its tricks. A trick he had used eight years ago and the other times before that.
"What? you think you can bribe me with movies and ice cream?" And a bit of Father time? I don't include that but it automatically comes to my mind. My tone isn't spiteful, because I am aware of the compassion his absence brings, but sadness is evident in it. I tase it before it rolls off my tongue.
"Bribe who?" Dad smirks, "I don't bribe anyone. I just offer mutual ground to resolve conflict. What do you say? Are you down?" He raises a brow.
In as much as I would love to comfort my misery with a plate of ice cream, I do not want the neighbors to meet an empty house. In better words, I prefer to prepare to begin the process of forgetting what was and start living what is.
My phone beeps and I know the message is from Sammy (what was) because he has his special tone. I imagine he locks himself in his room, buries his face in a pillow, and cries, refusing to eat, pondering why I'm not replying to his messages or taking his calls. I had told him. I will be gone one day.
Dad looks at the phone in my hand and I notice a wave of guilt wash over him. He looks at Yetu. "Take us to the mall?"
"No," I reply immediately, "I am tired, I want to go home."
Few corners down the block, we arrive at the short gate barricading a white duplex. The house; the environment even, of contemporary buildings, looks strange. The gate opens automatically and closes when Yetu drives through. He fits the Range Rover beside another black Range Rover of the same kind and I step out immediately. Two limps forward, in favor of my right foot suffering in the undersized shoe, I realize a certain lightness. I sigh, limp back and grab my school bag that carries a few books filled with drawings. The only way I know how to express myself.
There are two houses, separated by fences, flanking our white duplex. I wonder which is his house.
I remember the condition of my room and my heart spikes because I imagine he would stand in my room this evening, hands akimbo. At least, the floor is free of the mess of clothes. But the windows are closed and the bed is bare, I think.
But in my room, rays of sunlight pours through my parted curtain and glints on the polished white tiles. A pink bed sheet covers the queen-sized mattress and pillows props against the head. I sigh. I know, without looking, that the rail in the bathroom now holds a shower curtain and my toiletries are filed on the cabinet below the mirror. I know Hanna has removed my clothes from the box, folded them and placed them in the drawers. Hanna wasn't joking with her deadline.
My legs are grateful as I remove the shoes and toss them to the corner. I sigh again before tossing my bag on the bed and falling flat on it. I keep my eyes close even after my phone begins to ring. Like a man by Lil Wayne. His special ring tone.
I remember our last night and a sensory hallucination wafts a whisp of his perfume into my nose. I let it linger but raps on my door disperse the smokey image and force me to open my eyes on time to see Chimdi step in.
"Zere." She smiles but it holds no mirth. She wears her usual shorts and her nipples protrude on her ash singlet. She is four years older but one would think we are mates.
"How was school today?"
"It was different." I sit up.
She sits on my bed and folds her legs inwardly.
"Different? How?"
"I can not really explain."
She winks repeatedly, "How are the boys?"
Only the neighbor comes to mind, so I shrug. "Our neighbor is in my class and he told me they will come 'welcome us.'" I quote those words in the air as he did.
"Oh, that is nice. When?"
"This evening."
"Oh. I wouldn't be around. And my dad mentioned driving your dad to the rehabilitation centre this evening."
It dawns on me before Chimdi mentions it. "So, basically you will be alone this evening. Unless you want to join me to an old friend's house."
"No," I say almost immediately and Chimdi raises a suspicious brow, forming crinkles at the top of her head.
"I am fine."
She wants to say something but it is clear she says something else when she speaks. "Sammy has been calling." She says.
She knows I have been ignoring his calls.
"Just answer him. I have seen teenagers in love do crazy things when their partner suddenly cuts the line."
"Things like what?"
"Imagine the worst."
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